


3 A.M.

by TheAuthorWhoWrote



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst-Fic, Angsty-Kissing, Angsty-Sex, F/M, Fluff, Fluff everywhere, HAL - Freeform, Harry x Mal, No Dialogue, Sad Harry, Smut, Unspoken Love, angst everywhere, vague smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 19:03:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20363545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAuthorWhoWrote/pseuds/TheAuthorWhoWrote
Summary: He doesn’t know why is feet are carrying him to her room; he doesn’t know why he knocks, resting his head on her door. He hears the shuffle of her covers, her soft footsteps coming towards the door, the clicks of the locks.He’s defeated./OR/Harry looks for comfort in Mal’s arms.





	3 A.M.

Many nights he’d fight in his sleep, he’d lay awake with moist cheeks and matted hair. He’d always curse or punch the air with a strangled yell as he lays awake in the early morning hours.

_Nobody_ _is_ _there_.

He always gets up, he always has a smile etched onto his features. _Always_.

In class he’d notice her staring at him, her green eyes silently questioning him.

He flashes her a signature grin, a sign that he’s okay— a _blatant_ _lie_. 

_But_ _of_ _course_ _she_ _knew_.

They never acted on it; the stares, the smiles and smirks— the lies that fooled everyone else; _but_ _not_ _her_. 

Many nights he would just sit, shirtless, head in hands— the moonlight showing through the window of his new dorm in Auradon, the only light that’s available. 

He’d sometimes never get sleep, he sometimes go days without sleeping. 

_It’s_ _now_ _3_ _A_._M_.

He’s staring through his window, his eyes falling towards the sea, the pale moonlight glistens off the ripples of the tides. 

With a sigh he exits his spacious room.

He doesn’t know why is feet are carrying him to her room; he doesn’t know why he knocks, resting his head on her door. He hears the shuffle of her covers, her soft footsteps coming towards the door, the clicks of the locks. 

_He’s_ _defeated_.

It’s only until Mal opens her door he hugs her, his face in the crook of her neck, her purple tresses tickling the side of his face. 

He would be lying if he said his heart didn’t stutter when she looks up at him with a smile and rises just so to kiss him gently. He would be lying if he said he had felt something more holy than the softness of her lips against his. _You’re_ _safe_, she says in so many ways,

_You’re_ _safe_.

The way she cups his face, traces the line of his jaw with her thumbs, lets her forehead rest against his.

His hands find her lips, soft— _real_. His thumb gently gracing over her pink flesh. He feels like he needs her in more ways than one, to be here, _now; _not in a nightmare. Her body is warm against his and years of aching make themselves known, unfurling behind his ribs.

He needed this, _her_.

His heart nearly bursts when her lips find his again, they’re feverish and gentle all at once, and he finds home again, this time with his face pressed against her belly, steadying his breaths against the softness of her body. His hands whispers urgent promises onto her body, and delivers, with oaths spoken into her skin, against her lips, spilled across the silk sheets he knows she has taken care to keep fresh.

His heart almost stops.

Her hands travel along his body, her hands soft and delicate; as if she can weave him back together with her love— so he doesn’t break when the night comes. 

_He’s_ _thankful_.

He tries to speak, his words stumbling as he tries to piece together his emotions— he presses his hand to her chest, palm calloused and rough, and feels the patterns of her heart, breathes the words he has only just seen the truth of against her lips. They are surfeited and sainted, his accent faint in her ears and her soft gaze is the only benediction he needs. It is a repatriation and a baptism all at once.

Still, there are things he still needs to say that can’t be said with his head between her thighs or his lips against hers. She lets him talk, patient as he fumbles through words he has never had to speak, not once in his lifetime. When he has finished, she draws him into her arms and doesn’t let him go. and still he aches, but he is home. She _is_ his home.

_He_ _won_. 


End file.
